Warcraft: The Warring Steel
by BloodOfBrothers
Summary: In the first instalment of the Blood of Brothers trilogy, we follow Valentholas Edasseril on his quest to fulfil his dream of becoming the ruler of Quel'thalas-or perhaps, so much more.


Upon the household of the middle-class Blood Elf Edasseril family within the limits of the Quel'thalas nation, two children were born, one year before the other; the older was named Valentholas, the younger Velacriel. As they grew, they grew apart in ideals. Valentholas preferred to spend his time outside, playing 'war' with the neighbouring children, while Velacriel stayed inside, preferring to spend his time reading books. From this split, the rift between the two brothers grew further and further with each year.

With the year that they go out on their own quickly approaching, both brothers had in mind exactly what they planned to do—and the goal, for the first time in many years, was the same: become the sovereign ruler over their land. However, both had a different way they planned to go about it. Valentholas decided to join the Royal Guard, in hopes of gaining rule through combative prowess, and Velacriel's approach was more political than anything else. He would be stepping up within the governmental sector in order to rise within their respective ranks.

With this disagreement in approach, the eldest brother turned his back on Velacriel, deeming his brother to be too weak to ever take upon the mantle of the kingdom—believing war was an inevitability of their people, while the younger believed that he could change this warpath in exchange for a new future of a peaceful Quel'thalas.

And so, the two brothers parted ways, down two very different roads, though, in a manner of speaking, aiming for the exact same goal.

Warcraft:

The Warring Steel

Chapter One:

A Road Newfound

Valentholas roused himself from his bed, waking to find himself within the walls of the Ederassil cottage. While it was not much, this was home, to him. This was a morning unlike any other he had witnessed thus far—this was the morn on which he would set out to Silvermoon—though he expected it to be a little more than two day's walk, and had decided that he would stop at Fairbreeze Village for the first night, and camp out in the Ruins of Silvermoon on the second night. He had brought simple hunting equipment, as well as an iron sword, need he come into a situation that he must protect himself, rations for the night he would be out camping, and had saved quite some coin in order to make it to Silvermoon safely.

Pulling himself from his bed, he quickly began his morning routine, before pulling his bag about his shoulders and marching out the front door. He needn't say his goodbyes; after all, he had said them last night, whilst they ate their evening meal, before he retired for the night.

While he made his way to the road passing outside Goldenmist Village, he pondered on the possibility of being homesick. He had spent many days and nights with the neighbour children, playing 'war', whereby they had camped out, convinced that if they 'retreated' from their positions, the 'enemy' would take over the land they had so carelessly left unguarded. Even though Valentholas was almost always considered the General when they played their war games, he never once left his comrades to stay on the front, while he went back home to a warm dinner and cot. He remained with his 'soldiers'. His brother, however, would have none of it. Velacriel, to Valentholas, was the type who would shut himself in the study for weeks on end, reading. _What was so damned interesting about those books, _Valentholas thought to himself, _it isn't like he was going to find the cure to all disease, or learn some magic that would cause him to perform some magical miracle, with all irony that phrase is—magic is a miracle in of itself... _Stopping himself at that thought, the blood elf chuckled.

"I'm beginning to think like my brother," he muttered to himself, a slight smile coming across his lips, "and that is not a good sign, if I've ever seen one."

All differences in ideals and decisions on how they'd spend their time aside, neither brother was a better person than the other. To the parents, and all whom lived in the village, both were excellent children, and represented their families well. Goldenmist as a whole thought the boys destined for greatness.

Valentholas was already at a fork in the road. To his left was the trail to the Sanctum of the Moon, and to his right, Windrunner Village. Looking at his map, he had to pass the Sanctum in order to be on his way to Silvermoon. This was one of the first moments he looked back at Goldenmist and felt a slight tug of homesickness.

_If I turn back now, I can go back home—say my goodbyes again, hug my mother, my father, and my little brother... In a year, he'll be where I am right now, come to think of it. _He shook his head, pressing on. _Would I want him to be weak, and turn back? No, I would want him to push away the fear to walk down the road he must travel. That is what being an adult is about. _

Taking a left, Valentholas begins the next leg of his journey to Silvermoon, the journey to the Royal Guard—or at least what he'd like to be in with. If that was not possible, he would have no choice but to settle for the next best thing. He would _not_ come back home empty-handed. The elf felt his family would shun him were that to be the case. There would've been no excuses, had that been the situation; he could've fought harder, shown them his resolve, instead of tucking his tail between his legs and limping back home like a frightened dog.

In the distance was the Sanctum of the Moon—he couldn't see it, but he knew that deep in the ravine laid the building... Though it was not his destination, one day, he would not mind going to visit. Perhaps one day, he may have a mission that will allow him to travel closer to it than this day.

The road this morning was rather barren—not many commuters seemed to be about this weekend, and it made for a rather lonely journey. Though, come the bridge across a river that fed into the Great Sea, Valentholas found a group of merchants, whom were also travelling to the capital of Quel'thalas.

"Hail, merchants," the elf spoke, though in the tongue of the blood elves, "it is quite refreshing to see others along this road, I feared I would be walking it alone."

The caravan leader, a night elf stepped from the cart, patting the horse gently on the buttocks. "Indeed, hail, friend. We've come travelling far from the Eastern Plaguelands, to visit the Silvermoon City and peddle our wares. My name is Lor'redon, of the family Illedan. These gypsies are my friends—the human female is named Chax Frostmace, and the tauren male is named Mochni Wildgrain."

Seeing a human, a night elf, and a tauren in his homelands was, in a sense, unsettling. He was not very fond of the other races that inhabited Azeroth, as it was the humans who brought upon the orcs, and the orcs who brought upon the burning of their borders, and the humans, still, who laid waste to the Sunwell—though it was an elf who was convinced into bringing about it's destruction. In all honesty, Valentholas wished that the other races would just disappear, for he knew that the primitive—rather, more primitive than the elves—races would simply resort to war more than any other option, and that is why a strong military presence within Quel'thalas would prosper in these times.

Chax and Mochni nodded, welcoming the blood elf. Lor'redon stood at the doorway into the small cabin that laid inside the cart, smiling at his companions.

"So, you're going to Silvermoon, yes?" Lor'redon spoke up, his eyes on the blood elf. "Perhaps you can travel with us—it won't be a long journey... Well, not longer than walking, I assure you."

It took a moment's thought, before he replied:

"Very well, I will accompany you all."

It was nearing sundown when the caravan reached the entrance to the Ruins of Silvermoon, as they had passed by the Fairbreeze Village some time ago, and decided to keep going, since the sun was still up.

"We will camp here for the night—everyone, start setting up your tents. We'll get up bright and early in the morning to head into Silvermoon, so we can beat the rush and possibly make a good profit from it." Lor'redon looks over to Valentholas and claps him on the shoulder. "Say, friend, do you have a tent? If not, we have a couple to spare!"

The blood elf shakes his head, though thanking the night elf for his hospitality. "I packed one, since I decided I wanted to camp out within the ruins on the second day of travelling... I did not expect to meet you all, and planned for a three-day journey."

"Ah, well, set up your tent wherever you please, and when you have the chance, feel free to join us around the campfire!" He, the tauren, and the human female left to go begin preparation, and the blood elf decided it was time for him to do the same. The four decided to set up their camp in a D-shaped pattern, with the carriage at the front of camp, and the four tents sloping around the campfire and four logs.

Roughly an hour later, the four surround the small pyre. It was not long before there were stories to be told, and food to be cooked.

"... and when the magician came back from Kalimdor, _two of 'em turned brown!_" Valentholas, Chax, and Mochni broke into laughter, the tauren weeping from how hard he was laughing. Lor'redon, on a roll, continued: "'Well, I followed the directions!'" This brought about more voracious laughter from the group.

"I guess that's why they call him the Skipper, right?" Mochni grinned wide, bursting into laughter once more, followed by a giggle snort from Chax.

"I used to dabble in the art of being a bard," Lor'redon said between slight chuckles, "before my mercantile days." Looking to Valentholas, he continues: "Have you given much thought into what you wanted to do with your life, Valentholas?"

The blood elf gave it a moment's thought, and nodded, having worded his response carefully.

"I've decided to join the Royal Guard, to keep my homeland safe, and be all that I can be for my people." He did not mention his intent on becoming the sovereign of this nation, nor his views on other races as a whole. Due to this, his acquaintances nodded, seeming to understand.

"Quite the brave one," Mochni replies, his deep voice a dull rumble, "I wish you the best in your endeavours, and I hope you succeed beyond your wildest desires."

_Succession beyond sovereignty is something I've never considered... What is there beyond rule over a nation? Perhaps rule over a continent? An entire planet? Surely, though, the latter is for that of a god... And certainly that is not attainable by one such as I... Is it...?_


End file.
